


From Dust

by ereshai



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, I have taken things from many sources and bent them to my will, Minor reference to Agents of SHIELD, Non-Linear Narrative, Temporary Character Death, and Battle Scars, and Secret Avengers, and possibly other sources that I don't realize I've stolen from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is dead. Now his entire existence is being erased. Thor returns to Midgard to find things are very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Dust

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say that I really do like these characters, despite what you are about to read.
> 
> Written for Marvel Bang 2013. The art post can be found [here.](http://sumer-starlight.livejournal.com/6256.html%20)
> 
> (I have used chunks of dialogue from Iron Man and Avengers in portions of this work.)

****

**The End, the Beginning**

Thor glared at Loki through the cracked glass of the cage. He dared not try again to free himself, else the whole contraption would break free. Though by the look on Loki’s face, it would not be long before he made that happen.

“The humans think us immortal.” Loki grinned, maliciously gleeful. Thor had often seen that smile during a well-executed prank, but this was no jest. “Should we test that?” He reached for the button that would send Thor’s prison hurtling out of the Helicarrier to the ground far below.

They were both distracted by Loki’s minion falling to the metal walkway with a heavy thud. The son of Coul stood behind him, the strange weapon in his hand aimed at Loki. Thor knew little of Midgardian weapons; it resembled a gun, though it was much larger than any he had ever seen.

Thor tried not to allow himself to hope; he knew Loki too well. There was only the smallest chance his friend could free him-

The son of Coul arched in pain, blood blooming on the white of his shirt. Loki was at his back, his eyes meeting Thor’s triumphantly.

“No!” Thor could do nothing as Loki shook the man free of his scepter’s blade, leaving him slumped against the wall; he could only watch Loki approach the control panel once more. Their eyes met again and held as the floor opened beneath his cage, and then Thor was falling, still encased in glass and steel.

~

**The Tide Shifts, and He is Washed Away**

William Coulson walks into his study, Philip trailing behind him. He sits down at his desk and unlocks a small drawer.

“Dad?” his son asks, curiosity in his voice. Philip has never been allowed access to that particular drawer.

“I have a special birthday present for you. I think you can take care of these properly, now that you’re ten.” William takes an envelope out of the drawer and hands it to Philip. “Don’t prove me wrong, son.”

“No, sir,” Philip answers, shaking his head, eyes wide.

“Good man. Well, aren’t you going to open it?” William teases him gently. Philip nods and opens the envelope, as carefully as William could have wished.

“Your Captain America trading cards!” His excitement makes William smile. Philip pulls a card out and examines it closely, his face full of solemn awe.

“Now they’re yours, Philip. I’m entrusting them to you.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Philip hesitates, then rushes toward him and throws his arms around him. William pats his back awkwardly.

William blinks, and looks down at the cards in his hands. He can’t remember exactly why he had taken them out. They are still in good condition; perhaps he can sell them. Captain America memorabilia always fetches a decent price. Not that he and Gwen need the money, but it would be nice to see them go to someone who appreciated them. He has long since given up the hope there will be any children to inherit them. He sighs and stuffs the cards back in their envelope before tossing them into a half-open drawer and leaving the room.

~

**Walking a New Path**

Thor tried to curb his impatience as he waited to speak with his father. Patience was not as difficult as it once was, but the possibility of returning to Midgard, of seeing Jane once again, almost pushed him back to his old habit of deed before thought. This time, he would go with his father’s blessing, or not at all, as much as that would pain him. Now that the Bifrost was once again whole, Thor hoped Odin would not long wait to give him that blessing.

“I feel you fidgeting from across the room,” Frigga said, smiling slightly as she walked out of Odin’s chambers. He was glad to see that smile; she still mourned Loki’s loss, all the more because she had respected his brother’s wishes and not visited him in his prison, as she longed to do. Thor had yet to attempt a visit of his own. As much as he loved his brother, he did not trust him. Loki would only spin him about with deceptive words until that love turned to rage and pain.

“I have been as still as this statue, Mother,” was all he said, indicating the miniature Sleipnir carved out of glowing black marble on the plinth next to him.

“If only your thoughts were so still. Be at ease; I believe you will have Odin’s leave to go.”

“And will I have yours, as well?” Thor asked, solemn. If she denied him, he would not go, no matter Father’s words on the subject - she wouldn’t do such a thing without good reason.

“You have it. Your heart is already there and I will not keep you apart from it any longer than I must.”

Thor crossed the antechamber and embraced her. “Thank you, Mother.”

Frigga held him tightly, and then pushed him away with a playful shove. “I must go. I have much to attend to this morning.”

He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I will see you again before I go. If I go,” he added hastily.

“If, indeed. Go in and speak with your father,” she commanded, and left the room.

Thor rapped on the door to his father’s chamber, and entered without waiting for a reply. Odin knew it was him; there was no reason to stand on ceremony.

“Thor,” Odin greeted him.

“Father.” Thor went to one knee and bowed his head.

“Come, walk with me.” He rose and Odin led him out onto a terrace overlooking the Bifrost. It shimmered in the sunlight. “You wish to return to Midgard.”

“I do.” He wanted to add more, to explain about Jane Foster, and the brave warriors he had fought alongside, but his father would not be swayed by such things.

“And what will you do there? Will you stay, make it your home?” Odin did not look at him.

“Asgard is my home. Yet I have claimed the right of Protector of Midgard. I would do well to see to its care.”

“Your mother tells me your heart is there. Is this true?”

Thor hesitated. “Yes. As much as it is here. I would not be long from either place.”

Odin finally turned to him. “As Protector of Midgard, you must do your duty by that realm. As my heir, you must do your duty by me. Do you feel you can fulfill these obligations?”

“I do, Father.” He held his father’s gaze, willing him to see his determination to do just that.

“Then you have my permission to return. You may come and go as you will.”

Thor couldn’t stop the smile that broke over his face. “Thank you, Father.”

Odin reached out hesitantly and wrapped his arms around him. Thor stood, shocked, within the embrace for a moment before he thought to return it. “I am proud of you, my son. Come back to us soon.”

“Of course, Father.”

The passage of a few hours found him on Midgard, enjoying a brief reunion with Jane Foster. As he suspected, it wasn’t long before agents of SHIELD came to fetch him.

“Lord Thor, the Director would like to speak with you,” an anonymous-looking agent told him. Thor could not remember if they had met previously. He missed the son of Coul’s presence keenly.

“Let us be off, then. I would have words with him, as well.” At the agent’s puzzled frown, Thor reviewed what he had just said, but he found nothing confusing or obscure in his phrasing. He shrugged it off. There was still much about Midgard that he found odd; the minions of SHIELD must find him odd, as well.

As soon as Thor exchanged farewells and promises of a future meeting with Jane, they boarded the waiting Quinjet. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or complimented by the size of the honor guard SHIELD had sent, until he saw the pilot.

“Hawkeye, well met.” He took care to show his respect, and left as much space between them as the small craft would allow. Their most recent parting had been strained, and Thor would not presume friendship where it was not wanted. Hawkeye regarded him with an enigmatic look.

“Thor.” Hawkeye finally nodded in greeting. He busied himself with the instrument panel before him. “Buckle up, kids, we’re going wheels up in one minute.”

The journey was long and silent, but Thor respected his escorts’ wishes and did not break it. When he next visited, he would forego the honor guard, and fly himself to his destination, no matter the diplomatic upheaval that would cause. He was willing to make certain concessions so early in his protectorate, but SHIELD needed to accept his sovereignty. He had no wish to stand on ceremony.

They landed on the deck of the Helicarrier with a slight jolt. Thor let the agents disembark before him, and then followed them out. The Helicarrier was currently floating in the ocean, several miles off an unfamiliar coastline, but the deck felt solid beneath his feet. It was very different from the great ships of Asgard. Perhaps it would take to the air again. He would enjoy that.

Hawkeye came up behind him, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

“So, Stark - Iron Man, you know? Stark heard you were here, and he wants to get us all together for a meal. If you want, I can take you to him after you’re done talking to the Director.”

“A feast? That would be most enjoyable.”

Hawkeye gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I think it’s a big deal. He said something about Pepper, his, uh...his lady, I guess you’d call her.”

“I would be pleased to meet the Lady Pepper, and to see our fellow warriors again. Thank you for your offer of transportation.” Thor resisted the urge to clap Hawkeye on the shoulder, as he would any of the Warriors Three or Sif.

“I’ll be around. Just ask for me, and they’ll find me when you’re ready to leave.”

Thor nodded. “My thanks.”

“Yeah.” Hawkeye turned and walked back into the Quinjet.

 Thor strode over to where his escort awaited him. “Lead on. The Director is an impatient man.”

The agents exchanged confused glances, but the leader only shrugged and they led him through the Helicarrier without a word. The curving hallways were familiar, though he didn’t know where they were going. They passed many workers as they walked, and Thor received several odd looks. He thought it might be his cape. They did not seem to be common on Midgard.

They stopped in front of a non-descript door located in a short side hallway. One of the agents pushed a button on the keypad on the wall, and a chime sounded.

“Speak,” a woman’s voice answered. Had they brought him to Assistant Director Hill instead?

“This is Agent Bell. We’ve retrieved the package, ma’am.” Thor let the insult pass, but he resolved he would not be spoken of so dismissively in the future.

There was a short silence, and then the door opened, sliding seamlessly into the wall. With a gesture, Agent Bell indicated he should enter.

Thor stepped into the room. It was larger than he was expecting. A bank of windows took up the wall opposite the door. On his left, a woman sat at a small desk. To his surprise, it was not Assistant Director Hill, though there was some small resemblance.

From the doorway, Agent Bell said, “Will there be anything else, Director Johnson?”

The woman shook her head. Thor looked at her in confusion.

“Is not Fury the director?”

~

**What Was (Let’s Forget What Might Have Been)**

It’s hot. Guy Davis pulls out his bandana and wipes his face again. He’d accepted that being embedded with a squad of Army Rangers would not be comfortable, but all he has so far is a whole lot of uncomfortable and no action. He doubts his publisher wants a ten thousand word series on the best way to deal with the heat while humping fifty miles in full gear. No, he wants a ten thousand word series of the _right_ kind of gritty realism, i.e., every soldier cliché come to life. No man left behind and taking a bullet for your buddy. Uncovering hidden enemies and narrow escapes that lead to victories. He wants a goddam war movie in print, complete with a bittersweet ending. Unhappy endings are acceptable, if that’s all he can get. And Guy has…the heat. He is not the right reporter for this job, and even if he had been, he is with the wrong group.

Staff Sergeant Johnson swings by on his way to the door of the abandoned building they are resting in. “What’s the word, Olsen?”

That’s the other thing. He’s not a soldier, much less a Ranger, and not a single soul in the squad lets him forget it. They’ve nicknamed him Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy Olsen isn’t even a reporter. If Guy is anyone, he’s Lois Lane, and he is not a fan of Superman comics anyway.

“The word, and every one after that, is hot, Sergeant.” Guy takes a swig of warm water. At least it’s wet.

“Hear that, Cheese? Olsen here thinks it’s hot.” On an intellectual level, Guy knows the staff sergeant is a good soldier. He’s a Ranger, of course he’s a good soldier. He’s a good leader, too. What he is not is a good person, because what follows his sarcastic words is a round of ‘You think this is hot, you should have been with us in X,’ all at Guy’s expense. Every squad member chimes in, while Johnson squats near the doorway and grins. Guy hates him.

Everything turns to chaos. A series of holes appears in the wall above his head, followed by the sound of…popcorn popping? _Gunfire,_ his mind supplies, but that can’t be right. The squad’s current mission is strictly recon, and they aren’t anywhere near suspected enemy hideouts; that’s why he was allowed to tag along. Someone shoves him to the ground; everyone is shouting numbers and directions or “Clear!”

It gets quiet, except for someone’s ragged breathing. It’s not his; he’s holding his breath. Dark spots swim in front of his eyes and he sucks in another lungful of air.

“Breathe, idiot,” someone hisses in his ear. He turns his head. Cheese – Sergeant Coulson – is lying on his stomach, his weapon cradled in his arms. “Still alive?”

Guy nods. Cheese crawls forward, propelling himself with his elbows and his knees. _Army crawl, is that the proper term?_ He makes a mental note to look that up when he’s safe at home, far away from this idiotic career-making attempt.

Johnson is still hunkered by the doorway, Cheese now on the other side. They are communicating with hand signals. Guy recognizes a few of them, but they make no sense out of context. They could be talking about ordering lunch afterwards, for all he knows.

Cheese lunges forward, knocking Johnson back. There’s a sharp crack, and the doorframe splinters. “You all right there, Marcus?” Cheese asks him.

Guy blinks. Johnson is hunkered by the doorway. He jerks back abruptly and falls to the floor. He’s still, too still. 

“Sarge? Sergeant Johnson?” Mac – Sergeant MacAlister – calls from his position at one of the windows. Corporal Gethis, the medic, crawls over to him. He puts a hand on his neck to feel for a pulse; he pulls away after a long moment, blood on his fingers, and shakes his head at Mac.

 _Guess I’ll have a story to tell after all_ , Guy thinks.

**~**

**All You Know (All You Think You Know) is Gone**

“Director Fury is dead. He was killed years ago for the traces of the Infinity Formula in his blood. Which does not explain how you know about him.”

“This cannot be; I was in Director Fury’s presence mere months ago.”

“Tall, intimidating man with one eye?”

“Indeed. Without hair upon his head, a scrawny beard, and a dark complexion.”

Director Johnson shook her head. “It sounds like we’re talking about two different people. Let’s assume you’re telling the truth, and not playing some elaborate joke on us lowly Midgardians-“

“Do not impugn my honor so lightly. I have no reason to deceive you.”

“Fine, you’ve met a man named Fury who was a Director of SHIELD, but who somehow is not the same Director Fury that I once knew.” She raised a brow at him. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Thor folded his arms across his chest.

“You met him in the presence of other SHIELD personnel? You saw him on the Helicarrier, or SHIELD headquarters? Or was this all done in secret?” She drummed her fingers on her desk absently.

“I met him here, of course. Assistant Director Hill can tell you this. Fury brought together the Avengers.”

She looked at him sharply. “Hill, you say?” She sat forward and tapped on her screen. “Is this who you met?” She spun the screen to show Thor the picture she had called up, a man Thor had never seen before.

“Hill is a woman. I do not know this man.”

Director Johnson pressed her lips together in frustration, but she called up another picture. “Her?”

“Indeed, that is Hill.”

“So you’re not lying, at least about knowing who she is.” She slumped back in her chair. “This makes no sense,” she muttered. “What are the Avengers?”

“That is the name Fury and the Man of Iron – Stark – gave us after we defeated my brother and the Chitauri in the Battle of New York.”

“None of this sounds familiar. You’d think I’d remember something like the Battle of New York. Now, Iron Man, I do know. I take it he’s an Avenger? Who else?”

“Myself, of course. Hawkeye, who you sent to fetch me here. The Black Widow. Captain America. And Banner, also called Hulk.”

“I do recognize most of those names. Captain America, the super soldier who disappeared near the end of World War Two. The World Security Council scaled back the search for him. A possible crash site was recently found, though not by us. The Black Widow is under a kill on sight order from most world governments, as well as SHIELD. She’s the foremost assassin in the world.”

“I do not understand.”

“Dr. Bruce Banner, or the Hulk, as you said,” she continued, ignoring him. “He’s on our most wanted list, too. SHIELD is very interested in what’s going on in Dr. Banner’s body, and we’re not the only ones.”

“After all he has done for the good of this realm, you would treat him thusly?”

“What has he done, exactly? Transformed into a dangerous monster and destroyed lives and property. He needs to be locked up for everyone’s protection. Now, where was I? Ah, Hawkeye. Never heard of anyone by that name, and I certainly didn’t send such a person to ‘fetch’ you. I’ll have to look into that. I’m sure I’ll be fascinated by whatever I find. You claim some very interesting company.”

~

****

**The Kaleidoscope Turns…**

Clint Barton, World’s Greatest Marksman, is so fucked. All he wanted is to do some good, make a difference, and now he’s gonna die. Clint Barton, World’s Biggest Fucking Idiot. He slumps in the alcove where he had been stationed, but it’s not an actual hiding place. He’s on a fucking roof with no secure way down, and the bad guys are on their way. And the cherry on top of this fucking shitty sundae, he doesn’t have his bow. Fuck SHIELD.

“Fuck SHIELD,” he mutters.

“ _Dinner first_ ,” says the dry voice over the comm. It’s the agent in charge; Clint can’t remember his name.

“Ha ha. I’m a dead man, sir, and you’re making jokes. Why the fuck did I accept that fucking offer? I could be-“

“ _Scrounging for food and shelter while you dodge your former employers? That does sound better. I wonder how we ever tempted you away from such a glamorous life.”_

“Agent Whatsyername, I will have you know that I used to lead a _very_ glamorous life. Only the best two-star motels for me.” He can hear the pounding footsteps making their way up the stairs now. It won’t be long before they find him. “As shitty as it was, at least I had a better shot of survival than I do right now.”

“ _Coulson._ ”

“What?” Clint is distracted by the sound of someone trying to open the door to the roof. He has blocked it as well as he can, but they will get through eventually.

“ _My name. It’s Coulson. I’d prefer it if you’d use it. Whatsyername sounds unprofessional._ ”

“Because that’s what I’m worried about.”

“ _Can you stay alive for five more minutes?_ ”

“Depends on the number of bad guys.” Clint feels hope rising in his chest. Maybe help is on the way.

“ _Do your best._ _Coulson out._ ”

Clint darts out of the alcove and stations himself opposite the door, not quite at the edge of the roof, but close. He doesn’t know how many thugs are on the other side, but the best defense is a good offense, especially if he can keep them bottlenecked in the doorway. He pulls his sidearm and readies it, crouching to make a smaller target. Next time, he’s going to bring a grenade.

The first man breaks through the door, and Clint shoots him in the throat. The men behind him don’t hesitate, they just shove the body out of the way and run at him, shooting as they advance. He fires back, dropping a few more of them. They aren’t as good as he is, of course, but with so many of them, they make a few lucky hits. They’re using armor-piercing rounds; his left arm goes numb from a bullet to his shoulder, and he drops his pistol. It skitters away across the roof.

Clint pulls his knife. There’s a bullet burn across his right forearm, but that isn’t enough to noticeably slow him down. Jumping to his feet, he runs in a zigzag toward the group. Another bullet burns across his ear, and then he’s on the first thug, coming in low. He thrusts the knife under the man’s ribcage, yanks it out, and stabs him two more times. While the man is gasping for breath, Clint drops his knife and grabs the man’s pistol. He holds the injured man up against him with his weakened left hand, using him as a shield. The man scrabbles at him feebly.

Clint fires at the remaining thugs, but they are moving fast, some of them trying to get behind him while the rest take shots at him. Most of them hit his human shield, who finally goes limp against him. Clint can barely hold him up. He doesn’t have the strength to drag him, and if he drops him, he’ll be dead in two seconds. He’ll be dead in three seconds anyway, as soon as they get behind him.

Another man comes through the roof door. Clint almost shoots before he recognizes Agent Coulson. Coulson starts firing immediately, taking out the men in front of him. Clint lets go of the dead body, turns and drops to one knee, and shoots the thugs behind him.

The sudden silence is startling. Clint staggers to his feet, turning to face Coulson.

“I think that was less than five minutes, sir,” Clint huffs out, breathing heavily.

“I allowed for traffic.” Coulson pulls out his radio. “I need an extraction at my location, with a med team on standby.”

Clint blinks. He’s barely holding up the dead man, who’s about to be useless as a shield anyway. He turns, trying to stop the thugs from getting behind him, but it’s too late. The impact of the bullet in his back punches the air out of his lungs. He drops the dead body and crumples to his knees next to it. Another bullet slams into his chest, and he’s falling, unable to get his hand out in time to stop himself. It looks like Agent David isn’t going to make it in time. He barely feels the third and fourth bullets enter his body.

~

**…and Turns Again…**

Natasha has developed a sixth sense for people wanting to kill her. She’d told someone about it once, a man she’d almost trusted, and he had laughed and called it her spider sense; she had a feeling there was a joke she had missed, but not at her expense. She hadn’t killed him when she had decided to end their association.

She is not getting that sense now. Whoever is on the other end of the rifle currently pointed at her is not planning to kill her. She finds that interesting. There are many who would pay dearly for the death of the Black Widow. Perhaps someone thinks to use her. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has had this thought; they won’t think this way for long.

There’s a flash of light, reflecting off the scope. It can only be deliberate; someone good enough to get her in their sights would not make such a stupid mistake. It isn’t arrogance; she knows what she can do, and what it will take to bring her down. This is an invitation. Tonight, she will meet with this person, and only then will she decide if the little fly is going to regret enticing the spider. She vanishes into the crowd of people on the street.

It is laughably easy to track down the sniper who does not want to kill her; he left a trail of breadcrumbs. By the time Natasha finds him, she is not surprised to learn it is Clint Barton, he of the spider sense remark. She is not even surprised to learn he has become a minion of SHIELD.

“Come and work with me,” he says with a smirk. She still does not quite trust him, but she understands him, knows how he thinks. _He_ does not intend to betray her at this time.

“What authority do you have to make this offer?” Someone is listening, so she plays up her natural accent, the one that had been tortured out of her years ago. Let them make their assumptions, underestimate her.

Clint rolls his eyes. “None. But I know someone who can make it happen.”

The listener. Should she appear ignorant of his presence? Clint makes her machinations unnecessary.

“Get out here and talk to her,” he says, voice slightly raised. “She knows you’re here and you know she knows. This is exhausting.”

The door leading to the adjoining hotel room opens, and a suited man steps through.

“Natasha Romanoff, Agent Coulson of SHIELD. Agent Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, assassin. Play nice.” Clint flops onto the bed after making the introductions, and turns on the television.

“Don’t feel you have to put on a show for my benefit, Ms. Romanoff,” Agent Coulson says. “This is all very straight forward. There’s a place for you at SHIELD, if you can meet our terms.”

“And what of my terms?” she asks sharply.

“Depends on what they are. If neither of us wants the deal on the table, we walk away. We can go back to our game of cat and mouse tomorrow. I do promise not to kill you while you’re here in good faith.”

“You may try to kill me.” Clint snorts at that, but he makes no further comment.

“Of course,” Coulson agrees mildly. Something about him sets her on edge. He is deceptive; he lies with his very existence, not unlike herself. She will not underestimate _him._

SHIELD’s terms are…not unreasonable. She sets forward her own conditions, some of them outrageous. Coulson rejects those outright, but he accepts those that really matter to her. If the rest of SHIELD deals like Agent Coulson, she may decide to stay with them for a while.

Soon they are staring at each with nothing left to haggle over. Coulson holds out his hand.

“Welcome to SHIELD, Ms. Romanoff.”

Natasha blinks. Whoever has been sent to kill her is not very good. She fades into the crowd, scanning it for the ground team she knows is trying to track her. She spots them with slight difficulty. SHIELD, then. No matter; her job is finished. It is time to disappear again.

~

**…the Colors Shift…**

Banner follows the little girl through the streets of Kalkata. Her family must be desperate, to send her so far to get _him_. When he sees the isolated hut, he knows he won’t be taking this family’s money. If they insist on payment, perhaps a meal will satisfy their pride.

To his surprise, the little house isn’t full of worried relatives, come to support the family in their need. It’s completely empty. The little girl runs through the open rooms, and crawls through a window. He sighs. This is what happens when he stays too long in one place. He ignores the voice that tells him ‘ _This is what happens when you try to help’_ – he won’t go down that road; he has to help, even if it puts him in a situation like this.

“Shoulda got paid up front, Banner,” he mutters to himself. He doubts he’s truly alone, and the soft voice that comes from behind him is not really a surprise.

“You know, for a man who’s supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle.” They’ve sent a woman after him. So he wouldn’t feel as threatened? She looks like a tourist, dressed for the heat, but not very modestly for this part of the world, and he knows she must be very good at what she does, given how women are commonly treated here no matter how they are dressed.

“Avoiding stress isn’t the secret.” He’ll play her little game, figure out what she wants. Nobody’s charged in with guns blazing, at least.

“Then what is it? Yoga?” Everything about her is designed to put him at ease. Her bland American accent – so bland, he suspects it’s a fake – her casual, friendly manner, her lack of visible weapons. She probably has backup nearby.

“You brought me to the edge of the city. Smart.” He looks out the window, trying to spot the soldiers he knows must be there. “I assume the whole place is surrounded?”

“Just you and me.” He doesn’t really believe that, but he lets the lie pass. She doesn’t seem to understand that there really isn’t anything she can do if he decides to leave, even if he would rather avoid doing things the hard way.

“And your actress buddy? She a spy, too? They start that young?” Banner isn’t sure who this woman is working for, how low they will stoop to achieve their goals. Hiring the girl to play a part for a short time is one thing; he knows many poor families can and do risk worse for their daughters if it means easing the financial burden. But to pull a child into such a life full time – he doesn’t want any part of an organization like that.

“I did.” That sounds like the truth, even if it doesn’t quite answer his question. But he can do nothing for that little girl now; dealing with the person in front of him is more important.

“Who are you?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” Her name, if it’s even hers, means nothing to him. A sudden thought occurs to him.

“Are you here to kill me, Ms. Romanoff? ‘Cause that’s not going to work out for everyone.” Banner curses himself for not considering this possibility sooner. Not that he’s worried about dying.

“No, no, of course not. I’m here on behalf of SHIELD.” SHIELD. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or concerned.

Banner blinks. The little girl runs through the open rooms, and crawls through a window. The house itself is empty, except for a young man in a suit who is pointing a gun at him. This is what happens when he stays too long in one place. He ignores the voice that tells him ‘ _This is what happens when you try to help’_ – he won’t go down that road; he has to help, even if it puts him in a situation like this. The agent facing him is nervous; the gun in his hand shakes ever so slightly. He lifts his hands slowly, showing they are empty. He doubts that will help.

“I need to take you into custody, Dr. Banner.” The agent’s words are confident; the rest of him, not so much.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let that happen.” He notices a slight movement outside the window; of course the agent has backup. There’s no chance that the situation won’t escalate.

“It is imperative you come back with me to SHIELD.” The agent’s hand is no longer trembling. Banner feels the Other Guy stirring, closer to the surface than he finds acceptable.

“I wouldn’t do that. Things will get…messy.”

The door bursts open behind him. The agent startles – _who sends someone so clearly out of their depth on a mission like this_ – and his gun goes off. The Other Guy rips his way into wakefulness, and Banner doesn’t fight it; he’s learned not to fight it. The bullet flattens against the Hulk’s chest, and he lets out a roar.

Things get messy.

****

**…and Turn to Black**

The glacier is constantly changing, yet it always looks the same. The wind blows, things are revealed for a moment, only to be covered up again. Or the opposite. There’s very little in the way of permanent landmarks.

Which is why Kellogg hates it. There’s nothing to look at while he’s waiting for something to happen. Even the thing he’s monitoring is boring – it just looks like another piece of the landscape of snow and ice. He wishes something would wander by, a polar bear, anything. He’s not quite to the point of wanting unauthorized personnel to show up – just one or two, to relieve the monotony – but it won’t take much longer to get him there.

“When is the team expected to arrive at the site?”

Kellogg startles at the unexpected voice.  He whirls in his seat; he had thought he was alone in the room. There’s an agent standing just inside the door; Kellogg can tell he’s pretty high up in the chain by the tailored suit he’s wearing.

“I apologize, Agent Kellogg, I thought you noticed I was here.” The agent is the opposite of threatening, a real bureaucratic type, right down to the thinning hair. He probably likes to stick his nose into everything so he can feel important.

“No, that’s fine, uh, sir.” Kellogg can’t read the agent’s badge from where he’s sitting, and he doesn’t look familiar. Probably just another cog in the machine.

“The team’s ETA?”

“Approximately fifteen hours, sir, depending on conditions.” Kellogg turns back to the monitor. With his luck, an army will show up while his back is turned.

“Any luck with the satellites? Do we have a clear picture of the symbol the Russians were describing yet?”

“No, sir, it’s been covered up again.” He really wants the guy to leave, so he can die of boredom while watching the endless expanse of white on his monitor in peace.

“Pity.” He seems about to say something else, but his phone beeps. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers it with a curt “Coulson.”

Shit, this guy is Agent Coulson? He did not look anything like Kellogg had imagined. He wants to turn and stare, get a really good look at the legend.

Kellogg blinks. Nothing is happening on his monitors. Still just a nice wide expanse of white.

There’s a knock on his door, and Agent Sitwell walks into the room. Kellogg likes Sitwell, although anybody would be welcome to interrupt his useless snow watching. He can’t wait for his shift to be over.

“Kellogg, how’s it going? Anything interesting?”

“Not even a polar bear, sir.” Kellogg gives him a quick grin.

“Too bad. But this is your lucky day. The Director has reprioritized the mission, so you can stop monitoring the site.”

“Well, there’s not much going on, but what about the-“ Kellogg waves his hand vaguely at the screen.

“Until we know for sure what we’re dealing with, we’re not wasting any more resources on it. As soon as the team gets there, we’ll know more, and proceed from there. You can’t tell me you’re disappointed?”

“Not at all, sir. I’ve got plenty of other work to occupy my time.” Even as he speaks, he’s calling up a file on his computer. “Should I leave the cam in place?”

“Yes, it may be needed after the team gets there.”

With great satisfaction, Kellogg turns off the feed from the mobile cam.

Nobody is watching when two large vehicles on snow treads trundle up to the site, accompanied by several armed men on snowmobiles. Two dozen more men climb out of the vehicles, each carrying a piece of equipment, which they begin to set up almost immediately while the guards set up a defense perimeter.

A man stands near one of the vehicles, directing the workers. A gust of wind blows the collar of his coat open, revealing a symbol pinned to his lapel, a skull with six tentacles curling under it.

**~**

**Don’t Say What Might Have Been**

“I do not understand,” Thor said. “Hawkeye awaits me even now.” This made no sense.

Director Johnson stared at him. She slid her hand across her desk, and the top lit up. She tapped a particular spot. “Get me Agent Bell.”

The minutes passed in silence. The director kept her eyes on him the whole time. If he had not grown to adulthood under Odin’s stern gaze, he might have been made uncomfortable.

A light flashed on the desk, followed by a muted chime. “ _This is Agent Bell, Director.”_  

“Bell, who piloted the transport that brought Thor here?”

“ _Garcia, ma’am. I think she’s in the mess right now, if you need to speak with her._ ” The man’s voice was matter of fact. Thor could think of no reason for the man to lie.

Director Johnson nodded to herself, as if this confirmed what she knew. “I don’t think that will be necessary. That is all.” Agent Bell acknowledged her and she ended the call.

“If this was an isolated incident, I would throw your ass in a holding cell until we figured out what’s going on.”

“I would not advise it. I have committed no crime.” Thor tensed, prepared to free himself if she attempted to confine him. He would try not to damage the vessel, or injure anyone over much.

“Calm down, I said ‘if’. But this isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened this week.”

“Strange?” He relaxed slightly. “What manner of strange?”

“I’ll show you. Maybe you can explain it; we sure as hell haven’t been able to.” The director rose from her desk and stalked out of the room. Thor followed behind her.

They journeyed through the Helicarrier, venturing into highly secured areas. Eventually, they reached a place where the director had to submit to odd security measures, wherein a beam of light shone into her eye, releasing the door.

The passageway beyond the door was very…white. There were many doors set into the walls, and large windows that looked into each room. All but one of them was dark. Standing at the one lit window was Stark.

“Well met, friend Stark!” Thor was pleased to see someone he knew. Stark turned, and Thor was surprised to see heavy scarring dominating the left side of his face. It was healed, too old to have occurred since Thor had seen him last.

“Yeah, hi,” he said, limping toward them. Something was odd about his left hand, too; it was encased in metal, but it was not the gauntlet Thor had seen him use previously. “Have we met?”

“We fought a mighty battle, side by side. Do you not remember?” What mysterious power was at work?

“Um, no. I’m a solo act, L’Oreal.” Stark raised a brow at Director Johnson. She shrugged.

“I am Thor, prince of Asgard.”

“Sure you are. Well, it was nice to meet you, but I’ve got real work to do here, so…”

“What mischief is this? Only a short time ago, you wished me to feast with you and the Lady Pepper.”

Stark stiffened. “What?” His face was very pale.

“You truly have no memory of me?”

“What did you just say? Why are you – why is he talking about Pepper?” He turned to the director. “Is this some kind of twisted joke? Did you put him up to this? Am I not getting results fast enough for you?”

“Stark, that’s not-“ Director Johnson held up a hand, but Stark ignored her.

“I have somewhere I need to be that’s not here.” He glared at Thor. “Let’s not meet again, shall we? Great, thanks, bye.”

Stark pushed past them both and let himself out of the secured area, his hands clenched into tight fists.

 ~

**So Full of Regret**

Pepper approaches Section 16, the SHIELD agents on her heels. She can’t believe she’s not only allowing government officials to enter restricted Stark Industries property, but actively helping them. But it’s harder to believe that Obadiah tried to have Tony killed, and that actually had happened. So she’ll do what she must to keep Tony safe. Later, she’ll figure out how to get back the mile SHIELD will inevitably take from this inch she’s giving them.

Her key card doesn’t work; it’s supposed to allow her access to everything. That’s the trouble with using the latest technology – you can’t pick an electronic lock without specialized equipment. Tony could probably do it with a paper clip, but he isn’t here.

Agent Coulson sticks something on the door – of course he has specialized equipment.

“Oh, wow. What’s that? It’s, like, a little device? It’s, like, a thing that’s going to pick the lock?” The words spill out too quickly. She hates her tendency to babble when she’s nervous. The device doesn’t look like anything Tony’s had a hand in, not that she knows everything he does. She wonders where SHIELD gets their tech.

“You might want to take a few steps back.” Agent Coulson is actually very nice for a government stooge - oh, oh! It’s not a lock pick. She hurries away and covers her ears, but the subsequent explosion is not that loud.

“If you’re going to come with us, Miss Potts,” Agent Coulson says, “stay close. We have no idea how much progress Stane has made on this weaponized suit you told us about.”

“Of course I’m coming with you,” she argues automatically. “As a representative of Stark Industries…” she trails off in surprise. Agent Coulson hadn’t tried to order her away.

He draws his gun and leads the way down the stairs into Section 16. It’s quiet, and their footsteps echo on the metal steps.

They find the suit right away. Pepper isn’t an engineer, but she’s absorbed something from hanging around Tony. Judging by the schematics she had seen, this one doesn’t look quite right. “I thought it’d be bigger.”

The agents split up to investigate the area. Pepper looks around, her attention drawn to the curtain of chains hanging down from the ceiling. They are swaying slightly. Why would Obadiah come this way, when he could easily have left by another exit?

She peers into the darkness. Two lights, like eyes, appear in front of her and rise up, high into the air, accompanied by the sound of heavy machinery in action.

She runs, past the agents, down the corridor with death on her heels, and then she’s through the door, where the metal monster can’t reach her.

Pepper blinks. The door leading to Section 16 is standing open, the locking mechanism blown apart. The agent in charge, Agent Wilkes, stops her when she tries to enter.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to wait here.” He turns to speak to one of his team. “Guard the door. Don’t let anyone,” he slides a sideways glance at her, “enter or leave unless they are cleared by me.”

“As a representative of Stark Industries, I demand to be present during your search.” Maybe if she pushes the legal angle…

“I’m sorry, but your safety is more important than any other concerns at this point. Please remain here, Miss Potts.” The SHIELD agents disappear through the door, and the remaining agent swings it closed and stands directly in front of it.

Pacing is a habit she’s tried to repress for years, but in this case, she gives in. Her pent-up energy has to go somewhere. The agent ignores her, which is fine, because she’s ignoring him. If she could just get him away from the door…

A horrendous crash interrupts her half-formed plans. She and the agent exchange glances; he looks as confused as she feels. He pulls his sidearm and pulls the door open slightly, checking the stairwell. The crashing noises continue.

“Stay here, please, ma’am.” He advances through the door, his weapon ready. Pepper lets him get ahead, and then follows as quickly as she can. She hears gunfire, but it is drowned out by a series of crunching sounds, as if a giant in metal shoes is walking around. It must be the metal suit she had seen in the schematics she had downloaded. Someone cries out, followed by a booming, amplified laugh that sends a chill down her spine.

The door at the bottom of the stairs is ajar. Pepper pokes her head through; the immediate area is clear, but she can hear shouts, gunfire, and metal crashing on metal nearby. There’s a trace of smoke in the air. During a lull in the noise, she hears soft moans coming from somewhere ahead of her. She hurries through the door, making her way closer to the fighting.

She rounds a corner and walks right into the conflict. Everything is in shambles, equipment knocked over, sparks flying from ripped out wiring. Three of the SHIELD agents are crouched behind overturned machinery, firing at a huge metallic monster that’s a caricature of the suit she had seen Tony wearing. The thing is firing back at them with automated machine guns. There are a couple of bodies crumpled on the floor, and the agent who had stayed behind with her is trapped facedown under a dozen long metal rods. He’s pawing weakly at the grated flooring, sucking in labored breaths and releasing them with low, pained cries.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Pepper mutters, pulling out her phone. There’s no signal, which makes no sense, she can always get a signal. She puts the useless thing away and kneels beside the injured man; she can’t leave him like this. The rods aren’t that big in diameter, but they are very long, and she’ll have to move them in the right order, like pick-up sticks, or she won’t be able to move them at all. She grabs one and lifts it – it’s much heavier than she thought it would be – dropping it with a clatter at the man’s feet. He lets out a high-pitched, almost breathless scream and tries to get up.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Don’t move, don’t move.” She moves another rod, and is reaching for a third when the giant metal man rushes the remaining SHIELD agents, knocking them out of the way.

“Miss Potts,” it says in a synthesized voice. “I’m afraid your recent actions are grounds for termination.”

It’s Obadiah. Pepper had known he was behind this monstrosity, but somehow the knowledge it’s him inside the suit takes her by surprise. It advances toward her, and she scrambles backward, struggling to get to her feet. Then she’s up and running for the door. It’s only a few feet away and then she’s flying through the air, her entire right side a mass of pain. She hits a wall and slides to the floor. Now her left side hurts, and she’s having trouble breathing. She can’t move.

“I regret it had to end this way, Pepper.” It – he – clomps up to her and picks her up. She screams. “Goodbye.” He clamps his large metal hands around her, squeezing the breath out of her.

“ _Potts? Pepper?_ ” She hears Tony’s voice through her headset, but it sounds so far away. She can’t answer. She can’t do anything. Obadiah’s grip tightens, and her vision darkens and goes completely black.

~

**Muddy Waters Begin to Run Clear**

“Things must be very different where you’re from,” Director Johnson said as the door slid closed behind Stark.

“Indeed,” was all he could say. This was outside of his understanding; he would have to consult with his parents and the other great magicians of Asgard. “Is there nothing to be done for him?”

“Only if Miss Potts comes out of her coma,” Director Johnson said. “Which is unlikely,” she added.

Thor was unsettled; it was obvious Stark was in much pain. Hopefully, solving the mystery at play would end Stark’s grief.

“Over here, this is what I wanted you to see,” the director said, indicating the large window where Stark had been at work. The room it looked into was blindingly white. There was a bed, and a chair, and machines Thor did not recognize, though he could guess their purpose, as they were currently connected to the man who lay upon the bed.

“Son of Coul,” he whispered, when he realized who that man was.

“You know him?” Director Johnson asked sharply.

“Aye, this is the son of Coul, Agent Coulson, as he is called here. I thought him dead.”

“He’s an agent? What agency? What’s his first name? Never mind,” she added at Thor’s blank look. She raised her hand to her ear and activated the device there. “I need anything you have on an Agent Coulson, white male, between forty and sixty years of age. No, I don’t know the spelling. No, I don’t know that, either. Try everything you can think of. Get back to me as soon as you know anything.”

“He is of SHIELD, good Director.” Thor couldn’t take his eyes off of his friend. To see the son of Coul killed right before his eyes, only to find him alive – it must be a dream. That would account for the current strangeness. He almost suspected Loki’s hand in this, but he knew it could not be so.

“Not here, he isn’t. But now we have a name to work with.”

“How came he to be here?” There was an odd stillness about the man; he was not as one asleep, with odd twitches and sighs, but more a corpse, with only the slight rise and fall of his chest to prove him otherwise.

“He just…appeared, in Medical. The docs worked on him, kept him from dying. I’m still not sure if that was the right decision.” She ran a hand through her hair and tugged at her ear.

“Is it wrong to save a man’s life?”

“Have we really saved him? He’s dying, and there’s nothing we can do about it. And they’re picking up an odd energy signature from him. They think it’s harmless, but how can we know for sure? Not when there are traces of gamma radiation present.”

“Energy?”

“At the same time he appeared,” she continued, ignoring his question, “an object that gives off the same kind of energy as our guest, an object that has been in SHIELD’s possession for decades, up and disappeared. That can’t be a coincidence.”

An idea struck him. “This object, it was a glowing cube?”

“Of course you know about the Tesseract.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes. We had people studying it, without much progress. I even called in Stark to take a look, right before it vanished.”

“I must return to Asgard,” Thor said abruptly. “My father must be told of this.”

“What will that accomplish?”

“The Tesseract belongs to him; he knows more of it than any in this realm. He may be able to explain the changes I have found.”

“Changes only you seem to know about. Everything here is business as usual, except for Sleeping Beauty, and the Tesseract being gone. And how do I know your father isn’t the one who took it in the first place?”

“If Odin had retrieved his rightful property, you would not wonder where it had gone.” Thor decided not to mention the fact the Tesseract was in Asgard, and he himself had taken it there; it was possible that was no longer the case. He returned his attention to the son of Coul. “He may be of help in this matter, as well.”

The director shrugged. “This guy is a problem I’d like off my hands, one way or another. I hope Dad’s a miracle worker, because your buddy there has a serious hole right through him.”

“I know of his injury.” His tone was grim, and she gave him a sympathetic look.

“I can have you taken anywhere on the planet you need to go.” She led him back to the secured door and through it into the hallway.

“That will not be necessary. I would travel more quickly than your machines can carry me.”

Director Johnson stopped and turned to look at him. “So, what, you can fly?”

Thor nodded, unwilling to explain it to her. She shook her head and led him through the halls again. Their route to the outside was shorter than he expected. Along the way, Director Johnson was contacted through the device in her ear.

“So, Coulson does not exist,” she told him when the conversation ended. “At least, not the one we have in our Isolation Ward. That doesn’t mean anything, of course, but we usually find at least some trace of a burned identity. It’s not surprising, though; nothing came back on the fingerprints, facial recognition, or DNA we ran when we first discovered him. I’m not sure what I was hoping they would find.”

Thor had nothing to say to that. He could do nothing to help the son of Coul without consulting his father, and the director did not seem to care for the man’s life beyond the connection he had to the Tesseract. The Tesseract would not be returned to SHIELD’s possession; he did not like to think what she would do with the son of Coul when she decided he was not worth the trouble he brought. Perhaps his father would allow him to live in Asgard once he was healed.

Thor took his leave of the director and flung Mjolnir, along with himself, toward land. He did not want to risk damage to the Helicarrier when the Bifrost opened to carry him home. When he reached land, he called out to Heimdall, asking for passage home. The journey was swift.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” he said when he reached Asgard. “I must speak with my father. Will you direct me to him?”

“He dines now with your mother in their private rooms,” Heimdall rumbled in reply. “Midgard has grown clouded in my sight; the effect extends even to you, Thunderer. Make haste.”

Thor nodded his thanks, and raced across the bridge. His parents were right where Heimdall had told him they would be, the remains of their meal not yet cleared away.

“Father, Mother,” he said, offering a half-bow, “I seek your counsel.”

Frigga gestured to one of the attendants. “Another chair, please. Thor, have you eaten since your departure? You must be hungry.”

“No, thank you, Mother.” Despite his refusal, the attendants brought another chair and set a place for him. Thor sat heavily and grabbed the goblet of wine, downing half of it in a gulp. He would much prefer mead, but he said nothing.

“What matter brings you home from Midgard so soon, Thor?” Odin asked. He sat back in his chair, his own goblet in his hand.

“Some power is at work there, changing things for ill. I cannot explain it. My comrades, and those I have met only in passing, have disappeared as if they never were.” He paused, thinking of Stark’s scarred face. “Or they are much changed.”

“And what would you have of me?”

“I believe the cube, the Tesseract, is responsible. In this changed history, Loki never attacked, yet it disappeared.”

Odin winced at Loki’s name. “Surely that is an improvement?”

Thor drained the rest of his wine before answering. “I cannot know that.” He waved away the attendant who moved to refill his goblet.

“Of course you miss your friends,” Frigga spoke, “but if these changes are part of a better life for the whole of Midgard, would they not wish for this, even if it means their own sacrifice? Loki…” she trailed off.

Thor sat back heavily. If Loki never attacked Midgard, might he be innocent of his other crimes? If he could be freed- “There is a feeling of wrongness I cannot explain. And the son of Coul lies dying, a stranger to those who should know him. Should they be trusted with his care?”

“The son of Coul lives?” Odin asked sharply. “I thought him lost.”

“As did I, Father. He is why I believe the Tesseract is involved. He appeared as it disappeared-“

Odin cut him off. “Is he not the same man from your exile on Midgard?”

“Indeed, Father, he is a great leader of SHIELD. We did not start friends, but we became so.”

“And now none of this SHIELD know of him?”

“They do not,” Thor answered, wondering at his father’s strange demeanor. Odin had not reacted so when he had first learned of the son of Coul’s supposed death.

Odin stood abruptly. “Frigga, we have need of a healer.”

“Odin-“

“Make haste, or it will be too late. Please,” he added, his urgency plain in his voice.

Frigga rose quickly. “I will summon Eir.”

“Father-“

Odin moved to a nearby window, looking out on the Bifrost. “That they do not know him when they should,” he mused.

“Father,” Thor tried again.

“You did well to come to me, Thor. Some things should not be undone, and I fear that is happening in Midgard.”

~

**Through the Rapids**

Thunder rumbles overhead. The bank of monitors, showing various camera views from around the crater as well as readouts from instruments pointed at the hammer-like object sitting in the middle said crater, all glitch at the same time.

“Fucking storm,” Agent Jasper Sitwell mutters. “We’re in the fucking desert.”

“Tech’s barely working as it is, with all the interference that thing’s giving off,” the technician pipes up, gesturing at the hammer-like – fuck it, he’s just going to call it a hammer. “Hey, we got another commercial airliner coming, sir.”

“Reroute it.” Sitwell pulls out his Starkphone, which is performing slightly better than every other piece of electrical equipment on site. That isn’t saying much. He taps it a couple of times to no effect and shoves it back in his pocket.

“Sir, we got something on the fence, west side.” The technician points to another screen, showing a red-yellow-orange thermal image amid a sea of green.

Sitwell picks up his radio. “DeLancey, Jackson, check the perimeter, west side.”

He keeps an eye on the monitors. Interference from the hammer and the coming storm cause them to show more static than sense. Sitwell could get a better idea of what’s happening by going for a little walk. His radio crackles.

“ _Agents down! Perimeter breach!”_

“Shit,” Sitwell breathes. “Sound the alarm.” The technician types in a command; the klaxons blare and the emergency lights flash. “Get eyes on the intruder. I want to know where this asshole is.”

The storm rolls in soon after, the sudden downpour battering the roof of the command center.

“ _Agent Sitwell, he’s in the tunnels,_ ” comes the report. The guard sounds like he’s in pain. “ _He may be after the object._ ”

“Details, give me details,” Sitwell replies. No shit he’s going after the hammer, he thinks. They need to know who he is.

“ _Yes, sir. Ah, white male, shoulder-length blond hair, over six feet tall. Lots of muscles, lots of training. He’s turning us into hamburger.”_

“Just keep him busy. Carter, get a vantage point and await my order.”

“ _Do you want me to take a weapon along, too, Jas?”_ Carter replies. He makes a mental note to give her shit later about that later.

“That was implicit, Agent.”

Agent Carter snorts. Her scorn is not very effective over a static-filled radio, and he ignores it. “Do you have anything yet?” he asks the technician.

“No, sir. The guy’s moving fast.” The monitors show glimpses of a large man running through the access tunnels, but they don’t manage to get any shots of his face. “He’s almost reached the object.”

They both watch as the intruder races triumphantly toward the open area containing the hammer.

“Carter, stand by,” Sitwell says into his radio.

“ _Acknowledged_.”

Another large body comes into view, knocking the intruder onto his back.

“Who is that? Is that Lucas?” The angle of the camera makes it hard to recognize the man, but it couldn’t be anyone else. Sitwell allows himself a small sigh of relief. Agent Lucas is one of their best hand-to-hand fighters, and he’s big enough to take on the tough bastard plowing through the rest of security.

The fight quickly takes the two men through the plastic sheeting and out into the rain-filled night. They don’t have a good camera angle on that area, and Sitwell runs through the tunnels to where the hammer is waiting, wanting to be on hand if – _when_ \- the intruder is taken into custody.

“ _This fight is a thing of beauty, Jas. Fair warning, I think Lucas is going to lose,”_ Carter reports.

“Thanks for the head up,” he replies.

By the time Sitwell reaches the site, the intruder has torn through the plastic once again and is approaching the hammer.

“ _Sir_ ,” the technician says, “ _the readings are going crazy. Whoever this guy is, I’m not sure he should touch the object.”_

“Carter, take the shot.”

The intruder jerks with the impact of the bullet. He stumbles, but keeps moving forward. Another shot, then another, and he finally falls to the ground, blood dribbling from his mouth. His hand twitches, then stills.

“ _Three shots, center mass_. _I’d be more comfortable with a couple more._ ”

“Thank you, Agent. Stand down, we’ll take it from here.” He gestures to the guards, ordering them to approach the fallen man with caution. Looks dead doesn’t always mean actually dead; Sitwell and Carter have learned that the hard way.

He pulls out his phone again; it seems to be working a little better. He taps the screen a couple of times, and the call goes through.

“Director,” he says when the person on the other end picks up. “We’ve had a development.”

~

****

**From the Whirlpool, a New Current**

His son lay dead in the mud of Midgard.

“No.” The nine realms have trembled with his anger; in his grief, all is still. “No.”

Frigga, his beloved, is frozen in mid-turn. Loki is motionless on one the lower steps, smirking at Sif and the Warriors Three, who are glaring back at him. The buzzing hum of conversation always present in the great hall has been silenced. Golden dust motes hang in the air. Huginn and Muninn are caught mid-air, wings extended in flight.

“No.”

Odin rises from his throne and descends the stairs, leaving everything – his wife and his living son; his warriors and his wolves; his horse and his spear; his ring and his ravens. Soon Valaskjalf and all of Asgard are behind him and the many colors of the Bifrost are beneath is feet. Heimdall stands guard, his all-seeing gaze blinded as Odin passes him and walks between the worlds.

Midgard is dark, cold, and wet. He waves aside the hanging drops of rain, falling to his knees at Thor’s side. Midgardian warriors in strange armor surround them like statues. The weapons they hold are unfamiliar, insignificant; yet there are three bloody holes in his son’s unmoving chest.

“No,” he whispers.

Odin lays his hand on Thor’s wounds, summoning his power and willing him to heal, to live. It pours out of him, as if he’s emptying a pitcher of water into an abyss. Soon, he slumps over his son’s still form, unable to continue.

There is a flash of movement where there should be none and Odin pulls himself back up to his knees. He blinks, and the Three are standing before him, the white bowls they use to carry water to Yggdrasil in their hands. They appear as Midgardian women, and they glow with an inner light; the shadows they cast show a hint of their true forms.

“One Eye,” Urd greets him.

“Odin.” Verdandi nods at him.

“Allfather,” Skald says, sneering.

“Norns.” Odin gets to his feet with some difficulty. “Why are you here? This is not your realm. “

“Nor is it yours,” Skald says, her voice sharp. “We merely come to attend your death.”

“It is my son who lies dead.” He meets her piercing gaze with his own. Skald holds him in dislike; he has never cared to discover why.

“If you would restore him to life in this fashion, you must take his place in death.” Urd’s voice is kind, but implacable.

“I have raised a thousand fallen warriors with little more than a thought. My life has never been the price.”

“In this realm, in this time, a balance must be maintained. A life in exchange for a life.” Verdandi turns slightly and pours the water from her bowl. It disappears into the air. “If you wish Thor to continue his journey along Yggdrasil’s branches, you must yield your path to him. Should you use your power to upset the balance, Yggdrasil itself will fall, freeing Nidhogg.”

“His death, my death, or Ragnarok? I do not accept these choices.” Odin kneels again, cupping Thor’s face. “If I cannot bring him back from death, I will prevent it entirely.”

“You think to alter another’s path? The thought is easier than the deed. Even we, who carve the fate of all living things upon Yggdrasil, cannot change destiny. To change one’s destiny is to change one’s true self. That can only come from within.” Urd kneels and dips her bowl. It disappears into the ground. Water drips down the sides when she raises it again; the droplets vanish before they reach the ground.

“No, not his. My own.” He closes his eye and forces the worlds shift around him, willing himself back to the moment when he had stripped Thor of Mjolnir and all of his power, and sentenced him to this cruel end. His power is fading; he may not have enough to complete the time journey.

“Your actions are not so easily set aside, Hanged One,” Skald spits the name like a curse, pulling him back to the present. “There is no course you can set that will not end in Thor’s death. Or your own.”

Odin falls to his hands and knees, his head hanging low.

“Again and again, you and yours bring us to the brink of annihilation. One day, you will go too far.” Skald turns away.

“Ragnarok will come, no matter what I may do to hinder or help it.”

“You think to tell _me_ of Ragnarok, Long Beard?” She swings around, eyes blazing. “Yes, it will come. _At the appointed time_.”

“Has that knowledge been given to you, then? Skald?” Odin knows it has not, but, of all the beings in the Nine Realms, she is the most likely to sense its coming. He does not think that time is now, despite her anger.

Urd sets her bowl down; it vanishes from his sight. She steps forward, between him and Skald, and places her hand on his head. “Enough. There is none in all the Realms who can save Thor. You must give him up.”

Odin stares at his hands clenched in the mud. It is red with Thor’s blood. “I can truly alter no path set upon the Tree?”

“No,” the Three say in unison.

“But may not a new path be set?”

“You speak of a new life,” Verdandi says. “That is our greatest task, to carve the life runes into Yggdrasil’s branches.”

Odin holds up a handful of mud. “Then from the very earth, I will call forth one whose only destiny will be to prevent Thor’s death on this night.”

The Three exchange troubled glances. “The birth of one of this Realm is allowed; the balance will be maintained. How do you mean to do this?” Urd asks.

“Am I not the Father of All?” Odin waves his hand; the mud forms a human shape on the ground before him. He leans forward and whispers to it. As he speaks, the shape begins to transform, slowly taking on features, until finally a Midgardian man lay naked on the ground in its place. He looks to be of middle years; his face is kind, with a hint of enduring strength. It will have to be enough.

When Odin raises his head, he sees the Three have been joined by several of their lesser sisters, the norns. At his look of surprise, Urd speaks.

“They attend the birth of every Midgardian. Why should this one be any different?”

“You do this to save your son. But _he_ ,” Verdandi points at the man lying in the mud, “is now their charge.”

Skald shakes her head. “What other changes have you wrought with this? We may yet see Ragnarok this night.”

“Come, we have another life to fit upon the Tree.” Urd motions to her two sisters and they turn to leave. “I wish you luck in your endeavor, One Eye. May it not prove to be the undoing of us all.”

Odin regards the man before him. Even now, his life is being written, events of which Odin has no knowledge shaping him into the one being who can save Thor. He considers where – and when – best to place him; he cannot expend much more power. The Odinsleep calls to him, but he presses on. He need only awaken this man to his life sometime before Thor’s death. He can move them both mere hours.

He wills the time shift again; his power wanes dangerously. When he opens his eye, he and the Midgardian are standing under the hot sun, looking down on Mjolnir in its resting place. Many Midgardians surround it, attempting to wrest it free. The man beside him is now clothed and behind them is a vehicle. Already Odin’s actions have taken effect, changing the past to produce this now.

Odin lays a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Awaken.”

The man blinks, and pulls a device out of his pocket. Odin steps back and uses the last of his power to take himself home. He can only hope he has done enough to save Thor.

The pull of the Odinsleep is very strong, but he cannot give in to it. In trying to save one son, he has neglected the other; Loki tugs at his mind. Odin casts about, sensing Loki in the Weapons Vault, where earlier the Jotuns had made their foray. In that instant, he knows Loki has discovered the truth.

He makes his way to the Vault, in time to see Loki with the Casket of Ancient Winters. Though it is too late, he still tries to prevent what he knows is about to happen.

“Stop!”

Odin tries to explain, to placate his son, but he can barely hold himself upright against the accusations Loki hurls at him. He falls, taking the sight of Loki’s angry face into the Sleep with him; his only thought that he has lost two sons.

~

**Setting the Crooked Line Straight**

Thor could get no more from his father, and so they waited in silence. Fortunately, Healer Eir came quickly, accompanied by Frigga herself.

“Lady Eir, thank you for coming,” Odin said. “You have experience of battle wounds. Know you of humans, as well?”

“I have studied them, though I have no practical knowledge of Midgardian medicine.” Eir’s voice was musical, and she carried herself confidently. She seemed delicate, though Thor knew her to be strong, having been healed by her in the past; he was not always a cooperative patient.

“That is not necessary. A man lays dying on Midgard, and I would have him healed, if it can be done. Will you aid me in this?”

Thor wondered that his father did not make the request a command. He wished to return to Midgard quickly.

Eir studied Odin closely before answering. “I admit to some curiosity regarding humans. I will help.”

“Then gather your medicines and let us depart. I fear any delay will prove costly.”

Eir nodded and left the room.

“I will arrange your escort,” Frigga said, turning to leave as well.

“There is no time. Thor and I will await Lady Eir with Heimdall.” More attendants arrived with Odin’s traveling armor and his cloak, helping him don them with the ease of long practice.

“Come,” Odin said to him when they were finished. Thor followed him out of the room, through the halls of Gladsheim, and out to the Bifrost.

They waited for Eir, an eternity by Thor’s measure, though in truth she arrived very quickly. Heimdall spoke little, and only to Odin, but he gave Thor many odd glances.

“Something is at work I cannot clearly see. Have a care, my liege,” Heimdall said, and he activated the Bifrost. Within moments, Thor, Odin and Eir stood upon Midgard.

“I had thought Midgard more mountainous,” Eir said, gesturing at the desert around them. Thor did not reply, but she did not seem to expect him to.

“SHIELD left a guardian of this site.” Thor pointed at the small town just visible some distance away. “They will know of our arrival and come to escort us to the Helicarrier.”

“I hope there will be enough horses to carry us all,” Eir said.

Before Thor could reassure her or explain Midgardian transportation, Odin spoke.

“This is where you first fell, upon your exile.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Thor answered. Odin looked weary, almost sad, so he added softly, “It was necessary, Father. I learned much. I cannot regret it.”

“Regret changes nothing. It ended well, that is all we can ask.” Odin straightened abruptly. “Something approaches.”

A plume of dust trailed behind a black vehicle moving toward them. Thor was relieved to see it was the large boxy type that could hold several people comfortably. He had no wish to be squeezed in a small space with his father and the healer for the duration of their journey, and he knew they would not be pleased by such a thing, either. The vehicle came to a stop, and two agents stepped out. Thor thought he recognized them, but he couldn’t be sure.

The large vehicle was unnecessary, as the agents explained they were to wait where they were for a Quinjet which had been sent for them. Eir was unimpressed, and refused the small bottle of water offered to her with a snort. Odin’s refusal was more gracious, as was Thor’s. Metal folding chairs were set out for them, and Eir deigned to sit upon one, proclaiming it as uncomfortable as she had expected it to be. Odin moved away, gazing into the distance, and Thor followed him.

“I wish they would move more quickly. The son of Coul may even now be dead.”

Odin glanced at him and shook his dead. “Not yet.”

“How can you be certain?” Thor asked, but Odin did not answer. Eventually, Thor took to pacing behind him, Mjolnir held tightly in his fist. The need to see the son of Coul returned to full health was strong, almost overwhelming. He could not explain it.

The Quinjet finally arrived. Eir looked mildly amazed, until she saw the interior.

“I have seen better accommodations in a hovel. Should you not travel in a manner more befitting your status, my lord?” She wrinkled her nose and refused to walk up the ramp into the machine. Thor could not remember her being so proud before. He had seen her with her hands and clothes stained with the blood of injured warriors whom she fought to save. Some of that blood had been his own. Now she seemed a spoiled child of a noble house, and he could not fathom the change.

“I will decide what my status may bear. I would be no less a king were I to wallow in a pit, if it was by my choice.” Odin walked onto the Quinjet and sat where an agent hesitantly indicated.

Eir took a reluctant step forward, then stopped. She looked from side to side, her movements desperate, and took a step back again. Her whole body was rigid.

“I have traveled in such before. It is safe,” Thor told her in a low voice. Eir turned to look at him, the fear in her eyes plain.

“It is too small. Is there no other way?” She took another step back.

Thor put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is the fastest way, and we have no time. I swear, nothing will harm you.”

“If it would help, ma’am,” one of the agents said, “you could sit in the copilot’s seat. Then you could look out the window.” The agent ignored the sharp look her colleague gave her.

Eir pondered this offer, then nodded reluctantly. “That might serve. I thank you for your generous offer.”

“This way, ma’am.” The agent led her into the Quinjet, directly to the front of the craft. The pilot objected, citing regulations. “Screw regulations; the director wants these people on the Helicarrier yesterday, and this is what we need to do to make it happen.” She helped Eir into the safety harness, and then moved about the main cabin, securing any loose gear.

Thor boarded and took a seat across from his father. The ramp closed, and they were soon in the air. He remembered his previous journey, only hours earlier; this one was just as silent, albeit more grim. He wished it were possible to transport his father and Eir himself; he feared the son of Coul would not survive much longer.

Director Johnson met them on the deck of the Helicarrier.

“We’re going to skip the debrief I planned, and go straight to the Isolation Ward. The docs say Coulson is deteriorating fast, though they don’t know why. We can discuss the Tesseract later.” She led them into the depths of the Helicarrier; Thor recognized the route they had taken earlier. A handful of guards accompanied them.

When they came to an elevator, Eir balked, refusing to enter.

“No, I’ll not.”

“Healer Eir,” Odin barked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I cannot,” she answered, her breaths coming in harsh gasps.

“It is the small space. She cannot abide it,” Thor said. He held his hand out to her. “What may I do to help you?”

She only shook her head.

“Is there no other way?” he asked the director.

“This is it. We limit access to this section.”

“Let me speak with the healer for a moment.” Thor pulled Eir away from the group. “I see how difficult this is for you. But it must be done. A man’s life-“

“All men die,” she interrupted.

“And you have sworn to help the sick and injured. What of your oath?”

“I help if I am able.” She swallowed heavily. “I am not able.”

“This man, he is my friend. I had thought him dead, by Loki’s hand. Now he might live. Will you not help him?”

Eir didn’t answer, though by the look on her face, she would not. Odin came over to them then.

“Leave us a moment,” he said to Thor

Thor stepped away, though he kept a good watch on them. As much as he desired Eir’s help, he did not want his father to command her to do it against her will. He could not hear what words Odin spoke, but he saw Eir’s eyes widen. Her astounded gaze met his, but she looked quickly away and nodded at Odin.

“Very well,” she said, walking over to Thor. “If you would assist me, I will ride in that moving box.”

Thor glanced at Odin, who only nodded grimly. “Are you sure, Lady Eir?”

“Please do not question me. Will you assist me or no?” She was shaking, but her voice was determined.

“What would you have of me?”

She grabbed his hand. “I apologize now if I injure you. You must be prepared to catch me if I fall unconscious. It has happened before.”

They walked together to the elevator, her hand squeezing his. Director Johnson ordered all but one of their escorts out, telling them to follow after, and Eir’s grip eased slightly, only to tighten again when the doors closed.

The short ride was tense. By the time the doors opened, Thor’s hand was aching and Eir was trembling violently. She darted out into the passageway and slumped against the far wall, taking in great gulps of air.

“We are nearing our destination, Lady Eir,” Thor said to her once her breathing slowed. She stood away from the wall and swayed, and he offered her his arm. “If I may?”

He supported her until they reached the door that led to the hall of rooms where the son of Coul was being kept. Director Johnson submitted to the security scans, and they all entered the Isolation Ward.

As they neared the son of Coul’s room, Eir left his side and moved closer to Director Johnson, firing question after question at her regarding the son of Coul’s condition and the care he had received.

The room was as Thor remembered it. There were SHIELD healers present, but their focus was on the beeping machines and not the son of Coul, who was as still as death. Eir gasped and ran into the room, the others close behind.

“This man is dying! Why do you stand there?” She went to the bed and began her examination. A faint blue aura began to emanate from the son of Coul, and the beeping machines went wild.

Thor blinked, and something…shifted. The SHIELD healers were huddled against the far wall, and an armed guard was pointing a weapon at them from the doorway. Director Johnson had disappeared. Eir was staring at him, wonder and fear in her eyes.

“My lord, how is your son here? Alive?” she asked his father. Her words astonished Thor, but his attention was drawn by the guard in the doorway.

“You! Step away from the bed and raise your hands. Control, this is Agent Keller. I have a security breach in the Isolation Ward. Three subjects, two male, one female.”

Odin stepped between Eir and the weapon pointed at her. “Continue, Lady Eir. We will deal with this.”

“But, my lord-“

“Don’t move,” the guard shouted.

Thor held up his hands and took a step sideways to stand next to his father. Odin looked at him, and raised his hands, as well.

“We mean you no harm,” Thor said. “We came here at Director Johnson’s own invitation to heal this man.”

“Well, Director Johnson is speaking to me right now, and she has no idea who the hell you are. Try again.”

“Enough,” Odin roared, and all of the beeping machines ceased. The guard flinched and put a hand to his ear, pulling out a small device. During his distraction, Thor flung himself forward and struck the man in the face, knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

“Thank you, Thor. Now let us see to your friend.”

Eir was hard at work, trying to heal the son of Coul’s grievous wound, but her medicines had no effect. The blue aura Thor had seen earlier was still present, and growing stronger.

“Something prevents the wound from healing,” Eir said.

Odin nodded. He took a step closer. The blue light pulsed, filling Thor’s vision, and everything faded.

**On the Shores of a New Life**

Phil blinks. He’s in a white room. The lights are dim, but it’s still too bright. He closes his eyes again; everything is out of focus anyway. The sheets on the bed are stiff, as is the blanket covering him; he’s in SHIELD medical, or a military hospital somewhere. He listens. The room is quiet – he’s not hooked up to any monitoring equipment – but not totally silent. There’s a tiny creak of leather somewhere to his right, and he takes a chance.

“Marcus - Nick?” His mouth is dry and his voice is rough, as if he hasn’t used it for a while.

“Finally awake, I see.” Definitely Nick’s voice. Footsteps approach his bed. “You’re lucky, Cheese, you almost disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer.”

“Not superior,” he replies. He can’t stop his small smile, even when he feels his dry lips crack. “Just higher ranking.”

Nick snorts at the old joke.

“What happened?” He thinks he should be dead. He reaches up and touches his chest. No bandages, no pain, no lingering aches. It’s as if he’s just woken up from a good night’s sleep. Maybe it was a dream.

“Technically, you were dead for a while. It looks like you’ve got gods on your side, Phil.” Nick sounds amused, but underneath that, he also sounds…not scared; perturbed.

“Not all of them.” Not entirely a dream, then. “Anyway, they’re aliens.” He opens his eyes again, blinking to adjust to the light. Nick is looming beside his bed. The room is generically hospital-like, but without most of the usual trappings. This looks more like the isolation ward.

“Thor showed up with his dad and a healer. She put you back together, and Odin whammied the lingering Tesseract energy from Loki’s scepter out of your body.”

“Is that a technical term, boss?” He’s not sure why Thor would go to the trouble of bringing him back to life, much less an alien king he had never met.

“Fuck you, yes it is.”

“Any word on why?” As grateful as Phil is to be alive, he’s not sure how he will be asked to pay for it. He probably won’t like it.

“Because the world falls apart without you in it.” Nick doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“Hey, I’m a likeable guy.” All of a sudden, he’s not so sure he needs to hear this. He looks around, spotting the pitcher of water on a tray next to the bed. Nick sees where he’s looking, and pours him a cup. Phil finds the remote for the bed hanging nearby, and raises the head until he’s sitting up. Nick hands him the cup.

“When Loki stabbed you, the energy in his weapon affected you far beyond just the physical.”

Phil tries not to gulp the water down; he’s so thirsty. He finishes it and hands the cup back to Nick, who pours him another cup when Phil nods at his silent question.

“You weren’t just dying, you were being unmade.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun.” He drinks more slowly this time, not meeting Nick’s eyes.

“Not for anyone. According to Thor, if you don’t exist, neither do a lot of other people, including me.”

Phil has to look at him then. “We did keep each other alive a lot of years.”

“Seeing as Odin himself showed up to save your sorry ass, I’d guess things didn’t go so well for Thor, either. But everyone’s right where they’re supposed to be. Except you. You’re in here, lounging around like some damn prince.”

Phil isn’t sure what to say to any of this. It’s nice to know he’s made such a difference with his life, though. “What happened? After I was shanked?”

“Romanoff brought Barton back into the fold, the Avengers got their asses in line and repelled an alien invasion, the World Security Council tried to nuke New York, and Iron Man saved the day.”

“Huh. So, when am I going back to work?” He should take some time off, try to wrap his head around this whole situation, but he doesn’t want to do that right now. He thinks better when he’s on the job, anyway, and he feels fine, physically.

“I’ve got some ideas about that. Something easy to get you back on your feet. What do you know about Tahiti?” Nick reaches into his coat and pulls out a card, holding it out.

“It’s tropical.” He takes the card, which has a series of numbers and letters written on it – a SHIELD file designation.

“I hear it’s a magical place. I’d like you to look into the truth of that.”

“Is it a land of enchantment?”

“You tell me.” Nick gave him a hard look. “After you fool Psych and Medical clears you. And we’re going to keep your resurrection need-to-know for now. Thor’s off world again, so we have some breathing space.”

“Sure, boss.” Something easy. Just what he needs. He wonders how difficult this easy mission is going to get.


End file.
